An Eldian's Journal
The Soul of War
Chapter 42: The Gladiator
The events following the gas tolerance and shark attack assessments went somewhat decently, maybe teetering on splendidly if you squint enough. The first hour consisted of map reading, which I was quite proficient in. Throughout that training, I learned that there's chemistry between me and paper. It did not matter if it was lines, symbols, or words. I could navigate all of them.
The real issue was the "special test" Kaslow mentioned after slamming a cadet into a plate of overly mashed potatoes. As you might expect, this test was pretty unconventional, but unconventionality is the exact type of blood his sinful heart pumps on a 24/7 basis.
This activity mirrored the unfortunate physical education classes even more unfortunate children took in their school years. Kaslow gave us headbands, either white or brown in color, for I assume he didn't have a budget for blue/red, or he just used his own headbands he sweated in throughout the years. The objective of this assessment was to test how versed us cadets were at taking things from other soldiers forcefully without guns. Hand-to-hand combat was the only offensive strategy allowed.
The drill sergeants threw us into trucks, and we rode to a separate field outside the camp. Fortunately, we avoided the trenches; instead, we rode to an uneven terrain littered with wooden structures. It appeared as a school playground, except it happened to be twenty times bigger and nurtured combat and violence instead of joy. This could still be joy if you were a masochist.
Another name for this place is a deserted village.
The sergeants divided us into groups of twenty. Each group would have ten white headband members and ten brown headband members. The white team would have to pull the headbands off the brown team and vice versa. We penned our Eldian ID numbers into the ones we were given to judge members at the event's end.
And thanks to my great fortune in this journal, Milo got added to my team, white, and Viktor to the brown. Great.
Kaslow started off the assessment by informing everyone they had thirty seconds to disperse, and at the whistle, everyone could begin. So, in the thirty seconds I was given, I had to contemplate if I wanted to take an offensive stance or a defensive stance in a house to protect my headband. But then I determined I would have a more substantial chance of passing the test if the sergeants saw me genuinely putting in the effort. I couldn't be hiding too long for that to work.
Instead, I chose to look for a home at the corner of the village. This way, I wouldn't be in the center of the action but could still look like I was devoting some effort.
Running on the decrepit dirt, resembling sand more than your average terrain, I could not see much effort being applied to maintaining the town. The only ones that seemed remotely affectionate towards the town's culture were the dark scum caking up portions of the wall. I do not mean scum in its derogatory sense like I always use against my fellow Eldians and Marleyans. But rather scum in its traditional sense.
The house I stood outside of was a simple beige. I didn't need a fancy place since that would draw too much attention. I grew acquainted with the tools lying against the house next to me.
***AN ARSENAL***
A shovel
A Two-Seater Bicycle
A goat
The goat caught me by surprise, as expected, mainly since I thought the village was abandoned. It appeared it was newly abandoned.
Next, I picked up the shovel, carefully wielding the handle to avoid getting pricked and getting a tetanus infection. I waved it at the goat, hoping to scare it away, but the little bastard started bleating. There were no folds of emotion in its eyes, yet I could sense the ferocity in its demeanor for one telltale reason.
It started chasing after me.
I dropped the shovel and clenched my mouth as tight as possible to hold in a scream. I was still unfamiliar with the town layout, so I stepped into whatever was directly in my vision: an alley. I had a horrible history with allies, but I also didn't want to have a horrible history with a goat, so I took my chances.
I jetted through the pathway between two buildings in front of me and found a few familiar faces sprawling over each other in desperation for a headband—a cadet and Milo. The running piece of animated mutton chased after me as I watched the muttonhead, Milo, throw punches that hit worse than Viktor's pick-up lines.
A threw together a haphazard plan. I thought I could run so close to the fight that the two monkeys fighting over each other's headbands like they're bananas would crash into the goat, thereby distracting it. So, I put it into action.
I bolted to the pair, and the cadet I forgot the name of squealed, "Milo, stop trying to punch my balls! That's cheating." Milo growled some unsavory language and punched the poor guy anyway. The unnamed cadet backed into the goat, and Milo, in the commotion, picked up a band.
"Why is there a goat here?!" They yelled in unison.
The cadet writhed in pain and folded into a ball on the ground. The goat stayed by his side, and I had my chance to leave. Milo eyed me up and down before dashing away. If only he noticed that he stole the cadet's armband instead of the headband...I took the headband off the cadet with a less than heartfelt, "Thanks."
"Fuck off," the cadet muttered. The goat bleated and licked him.
I stuffed the headband in my pocket and went back through the alley to get back to the bicycle. To my surprise, I found Milo struggling to get the contraption working. It needed two people to peddle it, and having a half-brained monkey on their definitely would not suffice.
When I approached, he muttered, "I can't believe I'm saying this." He glimpsed away and then looked back at me. "How about you focus on steering in the front seat, and I'll sit in the back and focus on taking bands off." He totally ignored the goat instance from earlier and didn't seem to realize that he took an armband instead of a headband.
"I thought you never wanted to work with a fifteen-year-old. Isn't that why you beat the hell out of me that one night?"
"Yes," He smirked. "I would gladly beat you up again. But I heard from other people you used to be a newspaper boy, so I'm sure you're good at riding bikes."
"Fine, we have to make a deal, though. If I help you here, you stop bullying me."
He raised himself fully and paced towards me with a few deliberate steps, "How about if you don't help me now, I'll bully you even harder."
I backed down and nodded. To this day, I still can't believe someone this corny exists.
We moved the bike off the wall, and I sat in the front seat. Milo pulled out his bloodied picture of Pieck and ogled the girl as if she was his good luck charm. "Let's get some armbands."
"Milo, you know that we are supposed to take the headbands, right? Not the armbands." I shoved the headband I had taken further into my pocket.
"Well, shit." He clawed my shoulder. "You better have not taken the headband from that one guy before. That was my kill."
The pain seethed. "I didn't take it."
"Whatever," he let go of my shoulder and picked up the shovel. "Let's go." We pedaled away up a hill nearby, and my legs burned from not having pedaled a cycle for a while.
When arriving at the town center, the abandoned houses circling us were spectators to the gladiator fight that was to come. Milo and I formed a mediocre chariot with our bike, and our shovel was a blunt, retired spear. All we needed was our gladiator.
A crow shrieked from one of the buildings. It was Kaslow's beak popping out of a window with a pair of binoculars. "Heinrich! Milo! What are you two doing down there?! This is not a jousting tournament!"
"Sarge, I thought you said we were supposed to use whatever is around!" Milo defended.
"Don't use my own words against me!"
Milo and I continued pedaling slowly in the town center, surveying what our competition was. After a minute, a "gladiator" approached; his armor was a square jaw, and his medal was a white headband he had taken. His helmet happened to be some chocolate hair that had grown out to swoop over his forehead.
"Viktor, we're coming for you," Milo said in a sing-song voice. He switched immediately to a sinister voice. "Let's go, Heinrich." Our first pedal rotation was so quick that it caused the tires to spin frictionlessly. I pushed out my history with Viktor and tried to keep one thing in my mind: he had a brown headband, and I needed to take it.
Viktor stayed still with a smug smile while carrying an armor assembled from his ego. He was positioned at ten o'clock in respect to us, so we sped along trying to catch him.
He took off his headband and waved it. Was he mocking us?
Despite us approaching him at a dangerous speed, he stayed still for the entire time it took us to get near him. 'Why is he staying still?' I thought. Being on your feet typically provides the most mobility and flexibility.
When the headband was within our sights, Viktor dodged us like a matador teasing a fierce bull at the very last second.
Milo whined, "Goddamit, Heinrich! Steer closer to him. I can't reach for his headband!"
"If we get too close, we are going to end up crashing into him."
"So what? If he falls over, he'll be weak, and I can take the headband."
Viktor ran off and watched Milo, and I bicker from afar. I heeded the bully's commands more to make him shut up instead of actually agreeing with the ideas.
We repeated our initial move with the intention of pushing straight through Viktor. We hit the pedals again, a little softer so that the bike tires would have friction.
Viktor stayed still and spun the headband on his finger.
Despite approaching him another time, he had the same ego held up proudly.
He dodged us again, but this time, he grabbed Milo's shovel while we were still moving. All I heard was one thud and felt the sudden decrease of effort in pedaling.
I set one foot on the ground, stopping the bike, and turned around to see Milo passed out on the ground. He must have gotten knocked out by the ground impact.
I would be disappointed if Viktor knocked out a decent person, but Milo was far from that, so I let it pass. But I would be lying if I told you I wasn't nervous. My muscles stiffened as if Milo's ghost held me down. Sudden anxiety shoveled my gut, and my heart's rhythm stumbled along a tightrope.
Viktor pulled off Milo's headband and put it in his pocket. He had a neutral expression with shoulders back and chest out. He shook his hands out as if he was getting ready for something. He took a few steps away from Milo's body and made a callback while raising his fists, "As your first friend, do me a favor. Hit me as hard as you can."
"Gladly." Nostalgia winked at me, but I avoided playing along with it. If you allow it to take you off guard, it's a potent weapon.
I threw a punch that aimed for his face but landed on his raised fists. With each attack, my stiffness stretched itself out.
He had played dirty against Milo, so I picked up the rusty shovel in hopes of returning the unwanted favor. The issue was I hadn't learned my lesson. He pulled the tip of the shovel towards him with me attached and punched my face.
He then grappled me to the ground. His fists cluttered my face, leaving it feeling as decrepit as the dirt he pummeled me on. Nonetheless, I raised my arm, trying to pull off his headband. It was a desperate move, I must admit, for there was no chance he would let that happen. He just shoved my arm away, and thuds continued vibrating on my face.
We partook in an awkward performance for the crow-like sergeants in the buildings, rolling around and beating each other up uncoordinatedly.
I tracked Viktor's eyes in between the alternating pummels. I could sense how gratified he was. It oozed out of him. He must have gotten fulfilled by beating the hell out of me. I made sure not to meet those eyes for too long and gritted my teeth in expectation of what I was about to do next.
I pushed Viktor off and dropped the shovel in an attempt to escape. That's what I liked to do then, wasn't it? I avoided dealing with problems but let them bake in my head. And then I wrote a story to forget my issues while writing...
I treaded past Milo's unconscious body and felt like I had finally escaped. The relief buzzed shortly until a blunt force reverberated through my back. I fell onto my stomach but turned around to see who the aggressor was.
Viktor leaned over me with a sword in the form of a shovel. The chariot final's racer laid at the mercy of the gladiator. He patted the shovelhead on my face mockingly as if I was a plot of dirt. I could practically lick the rust off.
Viktor's cold, smug sneer melted to a relaxed smile crossing his face. I could feel a slight warmth from him that I hadn't seen for a while.
His words smiled too. In a town whose life hung on the existence of stray animals, not to mention random soldiers ruining it, his words had a life that I hadn't expected...
"I forgive you, Heinrich."
Finally.
"What?" I backed away from the shovel, and my words broke down in confusion.
"I forgive you for not telling me anything, especially the things that are important to Kurt and me and not just you...because...well, I haven't been doing something right either." He pulled the shovel away and put his hands out. "How could I be jealous of you for getting a chance to get outside the walls when the world looks like this?" He looked away. "...plus. I'm sure you're jealous of me too and how awesome I am."
Viktor had much to learn with apologies.
"It's also not easy being angry at you. At some point, I stopped caring as much as I did at first and tried acting mean just to ruin your fun, especially when you hang out with those warrior kids." He let out a deep sigh and returned a thoughtful expression. "There's no point holding a grudge in you. There's no benefit for me and no real damage to you."
He put the shovel towards me again. "Will you forgive me...if I take your headband?"
I contemplated the question until I saw a corpse we initially thought to be passed out rise from its passive state. It stood behind Viktor and asked a few steps more baritone, "Will you forgive me...if I take your headband?"
Milo's face wore a desperate pink. He stole the headband Viktor had in his pocket as well as the one on his head before running off. "The Gladiator's" brows pulled together, and his head dotted about, not knowing what to do.
Kaslow clapped from the abandoned building above with his binoculars around his neck. "Great performance, subordinate mutts! Maybe we can have you all perform a play when we get back to the training camp."
I took advantage of Viktor's distraction and ran away. I briefly looked back at the fighter and thought, 'I forgive you too, Viktor.' I didn't want to say it out loud, though. His mouth was still open in awe, and Kaslow left his position as a voyeur likely to observe some other group rudely.
The remaining time for the assessment passed by with more petty fights. Besides this, I was pleasantly entertained by the new terrain and housing of the town. It resembled what I heard the mid-east housing looked like with the beige-looking houses that lacked triangle roofs, and instead of the complex geometry of Marleyan homes, they had goats.
Who doesn't like goats?
Me.
When I looked in a well, my headband was stolen when I found a cadet hiding in it—what a shallow well. He jumped out and pulled off the headband before bolting away. My disappointment didn't last for long, though, since I found a stray dog with a limping leg. It followed me around, attempting to constantly lick my leg. A rat tried to as well. You can rely on them to continually be there no matter where you go, though.
In the end, the sergeants let out a unified whistle, and everyone gathered at the town entrance. Their faces were pleased, as if they wanted to make fun of everyone's fighting skills. They then recorded the number of headbands every cadet captured and followed up with some comments.
Kaslow went third with his thoughts. "Heinrich and Milo, we saw you riding on that bike and trying to get headbands instead of using hand-to-hand combat like you were expected to do." His words took on a professional aura relatively uncommon for him. "Although, you took advantage of your surroundings which is what a soldier needs to do when faced with chaos. Also, leveraging the help of your fellow soldiers is essential...especially those you have poor relationships with."
Milo and I glanced at one another. We gave each other a non-physical handshake in the form of a nod.
I did well that day. Sure, my team didn't win, but I showed the sergeants what I could do and undoubtedly much better than hiding in a house where they would never judge me.
There was one primary examination left to go: weapon skills.